30th.....

… (written into my trusty old Moleskin last night in the dark…)

…. another string of storms is blowing through right now…… and they are just that tiny bit closer to us than the past day’s were….. the result was not only that the rains is here, which is good, but also that the power has been knocked out for most of the evening….. so I am writing this on paper….

…. my goodness…. In this day and age, it is such an odd feeling for a modern house to suddenly be without power… lamps, ceiling fans, and even the LEDs of VCRs and DVD players cease their glowing and allow the subtle natural light of overcast skies and the angry yellows & fierce whites of lightning strikes to take their place in illumination…..

… sounds, too, are new as the electric buzz of every appliance trails off with a sigh…. thunder, rain, wind in the leaves outside, pages of a book being turned, the pulling of a cork, liquid splashing down into the bottom of a glass…..

…. The water of Mother Nature is viewed with a generous quantity of the Water of Life…. in the dark…..

Our power went out the other day. It hasn't happened in a long time, so we were on stun. We sat on the couch for a long time in a kind of "what do we do now?" kind of stupor. For a little while we had the internet because our computers are on battery back up, but when that ran out, we went into shock. OMG....no internet???! We sat there silently with a glazed look in our eyes as though someone had died.

Fortunately, just as we were about to do ourselves in, there was a pop and a whir, and the power came back on. We started screaming, "The Power's Back On!!! The Power's Back On!!!" It was really very silly. Then we immediately retreated to our computers to check our email.

I can't remember now, but what was it we used to do before the internet?

Ugh. We've had some notable blackouts ('77, '03) here in New York and the Northeast, so the memories it brings back, comfort-wise, are unpleasant, although they do have a remarkable talent for fostering a sense of community -- peeps tend to look out for each other here, especially our elderly neighbor-folk.

Blackouts always happen (for usually obvious reasons) on the hottest day of the year, in either July or August, and there is simply no respite from the heat...so even if my AC is not working, I could stick my head in the freezer for a minute or two. Not so with a blackout.

"Don't open the fridge or the freezer," we were taught, "or the food'll go bad." Desperate for the sensation of coolness on my face or neck, blackouts, for me, are generally spent out in the backyard, either in the pool or on the deck with a wet washcloth on my face.

I do admire you, though, as blogging would probably be the last thing on my mind. Of course, once the power came back, it would soon turn into the first thing on my mind.

Something's wrong here. Haven't had a power outage all summer. Usually good for a copule of 'em. Someone must really be sleeping on the job!

Anyway, with the temporary retirement of Hoosierboy, that leave me the undisputed King of Blogging for These Parts!, the parts being between NYC anc Chicago, and North of the Ohio thank you very much. Muahahaha! I shall now go survey my domain of corn fields and stupid liberals. And indeed I shall reign forever, or at least until they refill my meds.

I love that line about the appliances shutting down with a sigh, very nice. We lived in places in my childhood without power (electrical type, not the Castaneda variety), heh! ..and having everybody gathered in the kitchen while my mother read "Ricki-Ticki-Tavi" msp.-by candle light, and sang, "Froggie -went a'Courtin'" will last to my end. magical. When the power quits here, Angie and I fire up some candles, open some wine, and play cards. Life goes on, and maybe with more quality than before..long as the food doesn't go bad, that is.

Unconnected....

…. I wonder what the hell was going through Burt Lancaster’s mind when he accepted the role of Dr. Moreau in “The Island of Dr. Moreau”….

… if you ever want to rent a phone to take with you on an overseas trip, you’ll need to provide most cellular providers with proof of identity, copies of the front & back of your major credit card, a signed 8-page document that you have to print out yourself and fax back to them, three pints of blood, one kidney, and three hundred American dollars as a deposit…. just trust me....

… black cats are like the “blondes” of the cat-world…

…. The Bravo channel should be banned from every household on the planet immediately….

Why you slammin' on Burt for being in this movie? He must've JUMPED at the chance to play longside of Michael York, famous for his simpering boy-toy gayness in "Logan's Run",(not a bad movie for it's time, but horribly dated now), and I won't even mention 'The Magic School Bus',...and then there was the riveting godliness/evilness(for people with no brain, they make it really clear for you who's who) of 'The Omega Code'. I have a black cat we named Crow, after the robot-puppet on sci-fi theatre, and he is terrified of anything that moves, including his shadow...bring out a vacuum cleaner, close all the doors and windows, and let the games begin!(evil grin!) As for hummingbirds, yeah, bless their incredibly quickly-beating hearts and wings, they are greedy and territorial...Since I'm hypogycemic I can relate, come between me and a bacon cheeseburger and I'll see you dead. Glad your show is back on, was going through withdrawals

Teresa: go to bravotv.com/scedule/ I don't know what ticked Eric off, but it may be because the bravo channel is sorta like having 'entertainment tonight'-type stuff on endlessy, with a cooking/drama/reallity show thrown in. Perhaps the great man will tell us?

.... Glenn B, that may be so... BUT that movie had some of the cheesiest special effects ever... I still laugh when all the beasts surround Lancaster and kill him.... later in the scene, there isnt a mark on him... just a bunch of ketchup on his white shirt...

.... good lord, Bindersix... don't even get me started on Micheal "Monkeyboy" York.....

... Teresa, just trust me... oh, and it is all the reality shows... especially "Project Runway".... I'd like to hit them all in the head with a claw-hammer....

Dude, don't rent a cell phone go here and buy one that you can keep. You own the phone and only pay for the minutes that you use. The phone is linked to a credit card and automatically pays for your time. I have one with a London number that I use while on international travel.

NBC/GE basterdized Bravo along time ago when the took over. It used to be all artsy-fartsy cool up and coming film maker stuff and now there nothing but stupid-assed reality shows revolving around the gay comminuty drama queen set, which there's nothing wrong with that, but still...get that crap off the tele and bring something worth watching for goodness sakes! How many freaking ways can we watch a room get redesigned?

I had a giggle loop happen to me shortly before I was to testify in court. I hid my face in my hands and tried to stop. The bailif came to check on me because he thought I was crying. After that I very nearly was... laughing so hard I was tearing up. Thank God I got control before I hit the stand.

Oh, and stacking the glasses... Those guys must be hefty drinkers, there wasn't even any foam left...

No, no, no...that dude is way off. Worst thing that could happen during a minute of silence is a fart. Think about it. Laughter doesn't lead to a fart (unless it's some serious laughing, and a squeaker just slips out), but a fart will 99.999% of the time almost always lead to laughter. The Curse of the Giggle Loop.

Coupling is a great show. I've only seen the first season, though, because Amazon is missing an episode of the 2nd season and I didn't want to download the season if it didn't have all of the shows. I may have to buy the dvd collection.

Baseball....

…. Back when I was a kid, I loved the game of baseball…. and from the ages of 7 to 13, I was a catcher for our little league team, the “Dodgers” …. Looking back, I find it pretty funny that a small town in Tennessee with a population of less than 5000 had little league teams named after organizations in New York City, Los Angeles, and St. Louis…..

… our arch-rivals were the “Yankees”, of course…. coached by my best friend William’s father, they whipped the tar out of us with a dizzying regularity for years…. My team was coached by my Uncle Bob, a lifelong farmer who tried his best to instill his passion for The Game into us children….and for the most part, he did….

… good God…. The way that he could block the plate was both awe-inspiring and suicidal… and Uncle Bob made sure that we followed our namesake’s team all season long…. I remember getting picked up & dusted off by the umpire after pulling a Mike Scioscia during our all-star game in Riceville when I was 13…. I tagged him out, but the way he rung my bell was one for the ages….that was in the sixth inning of a double-header that I had caught that day….. in my own scrawny little way, I WAS Mike when I put that sweat-soaked mask on my face…..

…. I actually watched the game where Chili Davis ran over Mike (that they talk about in his wikipedia article)…. And I was sitting on the floor of my parent’s home glued to the television when he hit that homerun off of Dwight Gooden in the 1988 National League Championship……

… but now, well, I haven’t watched a baseball game in years…. Sure, I have stopped for ten minutes or so while channel-surfing or caught the ESPN highlights…. but I’ve not sat through one all the way from start to finish in probably nearly twenty years…

… time ticks, I guess…. And passion fades….

… I bring this up only because of something that my Mother told me yesterday over the phone….. she’d called just to say hello and mentioned that one of my little cousins had spent the day with her….. I said, “that is great that he wanted to spend the day with you…. was he much trouble?”…. “no”, she laughed, “I hardly knew that he was here….. he just turned on the baseball game and sat there all afternoon watching them play…”

When I was a kid I loved the game and was a Yankee fan..just because the best hitter and fastest base runner in all baseball was from Oklahoma..the late and great whiskey drinking, bar hopping, skirt chasing MICKEY MANTLE!

Professional baseball is not what it used to be..I quit following it when both players and owners decided that money was more important than a world series...I have not watched more than five minutes of pro baseball since although sometimes I stop for a couple of minutes to laugh at the Tampa Bay Devil Rays ineptitude..

I share the same passion for the game as you once did, although it has faded a bit for me, as well, as baseball just doesn't seem like the grand old sport it used to be. It has turned into America's Great Money Making Illegitimate Record Breaking Pastime.

(Barry Bonds could stick a syringe of steroids in his you know what for all I care.)

Mike Scioscia was an excellent ballplayer, a real rough & tumble catcher, Los Angeles Dodger though he was, and an even better manager, but I do not share your enthusiasm -- lo, do not even appreciate your bringing up! -- that heart-breaking homerun off of Dwight Gooden (we won't even talk about Kirk Gibson -- bastid!) in 1988's NLCS.

Simple times... I can remember sitting in the stands all summer watching my brother, father (softball) and boyfriend play. But I think the last game I watched on TV was that SF series game when they had the earthquake. I make very little time to sit and watch much of anything these days...

My father was born just south of Fenway park in Boston and I grew up on Red Sox but I never got to see a game until my husband took me. The older we get, the more fans we become. We can't afford to go to Fenway much but we do take the kids to see the farm team down in Pawtucket, RI. There is nothing better!

As for the Yankees? Ummm, well... we don't say that name around this here house...

Baseball is the only sport I still enjoy. I try to catch San Fran when they're on, but other than that I've stopped watching. And I'm still bitter about Bonds, so half the games I do watch I end up rolling my eyes so much I can't even keep up with the score.

For me, it was laying on the floor next to my grandpa's rocking chair listening to the Kansas City Royal's play when I was a kid. George Brett, Frank White, Paul Splittorff, Dennis Leonard, Paul Quisenberry, Hal MacRae, Willie Wilson...

When they won the world series in 1985 was one of the highlights of my life.

These days, baseball can't really hold my interest in the same way, I prefer basketball or football. But I still get nostalgic when I think about the Royals back in those days.

It was Dan...he was a relief submariner, died a few years ago of a brain tumor. An excellent pitcher.

I will never forget seeing George Brett slide on his ass into that dugout trying to make a catch. And damn, if I didn't about jump up and down like a lunatic when the Royals won.

It was against the Cards, who the Mets almost had in the '85 NLCS. Jack Clark, Jon Tudor, Willie McGhee, and that stoopid showoff, Ozzie Smith (Vince Coleman later became a Met. God, did he suck)...I hated the Cards back then.

I used to love watching baseball, but don't really care so much anymore. It's going to date me, but I got to see a Dodger (huge Dodger fan) and Mets game in California one year, with Tom Seaver pitching. That was the best! Then of course there was the awful game when Yeager took the broken bat in the neck. Nasty!

I still watch it with my mom when I go visit her, she's the reason I'm a sports fan, as she grew up on a ball diamond.

I didn't grow up in a baseball family. We were all about football... SEC to be particular. But I have good memories of attending a semi-pro game with my family when we could. I can't watch it on TV, but I do enjoy a live game. Seeing the Mets in NYC was fantastic! But we do AAA teams down here; its big. We have a great time at the parks. I wish we did it more often.

Rinse....

…. A fierce rain thundered through this morning and washed the world clean…. everything outside had been hazy before – bleached & discolored and coated with a fine dust of drought…. and now all of the leaves are green and shiny again….. even the hummingbirds are clambering for position at the feeder with a renewed vigor and violence….. my goodness, what a difference a little water can make, eh?….

…. the weatherman predicts scattered thunderstorms for the next few days…. I hope he is right….. about the rain, that is, not the thunder…

…. The front porch has been left positively steamy from the sunshine drying up the puddles… bake, broil, and steam….. rinse, repeat..... a typical Southern summer……

I looked up clamber, and it says, 'to climb awkwardly', what kinda hummingbirds you GOT down there? lol. did you mean clamor? We had one heckuva electrical storm here last night right at dark, I sat out on the porch and counted the seconds between flash and bang. One went CRRAACK!BANG!- Angie came to the door and said "close enough for you tough-guy?" My hair was standing up, that close. Garden needed the rain, but it's too late for it, picked the last orange bell peppers yesterday and put them in a lasagna, along with the last tomatoes. heat blasted them last two weeks. Found a hummingbird with it's foot caught in a spiderweb, poor thing was exhausted, I gently freed it outside by the hollyhocks, and it flew up before my face and hovered, beeped, and then went to feed at the flowers. I wept.

LOL. They really do beep, although the only other time I've heard them do that is when the males do their mating 'display', which involves flying in a vertical looping circle, and as they pass the female sitting in a shrub, they go beep-beep-beep! Saw that in the Jemez mountains of north-central New Mexico in a field of blooming thistles. The one I rescued was the same type (about thirty miles away, the irridescent green w/ ruby throat variety that vacations in Mexico. Not to sound effeminate, (as if I haven't already), but they became almost like pets, and I miss them.

Bindersix that story made me cry. My hummers are getting friendly all the time as well and were cheered right up by the little tstorm we had a couple of days ago but it's been bloody hot since. I've never used the AC so much in my life and I feel pretty smug about moving into a McCompound with a swimming pool.

Change.....

… I nipped into town today to cash in some coins that I had laying around and to see if anything on the grocery aisles looked interesting for dinner…. I was disappointed in the first instance (regarding the coinage) and am happy to report that the choice of tonight’s victuals will be homemade burritos…. Did you realize that those conniving vultures charge you a dime on the dollar to turn your change into folding-money?... oh yeah, they surely do…… I tell you, people rob you right, left, and center these days….

… and the pull?.... $162.17…. mercy… it’s a good thing that I’ve been hitting the gym at a fairly regular pace…. Otherwise, hell, I’d have never been able to lug that much copper & zinc across the parking lot……

… anyway, today has been a wonderful day and I can hardly wait for the evening to settle in… days are like that sometimes, you know.....

… oh, and that reminds me…. I have a wee vacation coming up shortly….. I’ll be touring Belgium, Luxembourg, and southwestern Germany from the 5th to the 16th of September with the Missus, the In-Laws, and Uncle Ian…… so if anyone would like to guestpost here while I’m off sipping Stella & gazing at Rubens' artwork, feel free to step right up…. otherwise, well, I will have to let this little light of the blogosphere go dark for awhile until I return….

… so, what say you, rubberneckers?.... care to help a fellow traveler out when he’s in a bind?...... lest I blodge inebriated from somewhere in darkest Belgium via a shaky European barroom connection?......

Elisson, that is just nasty. I had a nephew that used to do that when he was a baby. Skeeved us all out. First time there was shit on the walls, in the crib, all over him. Next time, it was on the crib, on the walls... but not near his lips. Guess he learned.

Thanks for bringing back the memories. Blech. And of course I HAD to share...

What with working 60 hour weeks lately, I haven't been able to keep up with my own sputtering over here. Ergo, I shan't commit to wipe your nose nor your arse. But I did want to say ...again, it seems... bon voyage. Bring back chocolates...

Have NICE trip. Sure sounds like lots of fun. Enjoy the Kirschwasser while in Germany, drink it neat, and have beer standing bye.

Don't bother with guest blogging, that is unless you pretype something, then send it to someone else to post on your site. As for me, I will wait until your return, and then read some good writing by you about your trip.

Okay, the wife and I love scotch whiskey (whisky to be proper) She likes Leap-frog, I like tullamore dew. I often go to sleep with headphones on playing Tom Waits "Used Songs", or some derivative. She's a proofreader for a living, I fix cars, and drink. I read a lot, and work on my International Harvester pickups (binders) when I have the time and am sober... So this would be perfect! ..except..I'm either over caffeinated, or having a blood sugar crisis, or plain drunk, or whacked out from all of the above to be reliable...oh, and I'm sentimental and often lugubrious. (see Tom Waits and alcohol and car repair).Ha ha. Other than that, sure, gimme the keys, I'll feed the cat and everything! LOL. ps- where's the fire extinguisher?

Damn. I just spent an hour going through my box of useless sentimental shit that I should have thrown out ten years ago and I found everything from that trip except the card from the really cool bar I went to in Brussels. I'm sure it will turn up as soon as you get back. On the bright side I did find a package of pencils I bought in Barcelona. I needed some pencils.

The real irony is I could almost give you directions from the big square in the center of town, it's in walking distance, but I just can't remember the name of it. Maybe it's the same place anyway. It was Art Deco and it is on top of a hill. Maybe they built a deck by now.

Well, now, if you're going to be in this neck of the woods anyway, why don't you take a swing at southern England? We've got BBC Radio, Old Speckled Hen, and an air mattress, so you won't miss home. And rumo(u)r has it, the other half of the sistaweb team will be in the country around that time, that being the second week of September, so why don't you come on down and we'll slice the haggis...

Fluids....

…. This morning finds The Missus and I skirting northwards to Knoxville….. it’s time (after 15,000 miles) for Sylvia to have all of her various juices measured, changed, and refilled by the tender hands of the Audi dealership’s elegantly-smocked technicians….

… and as glorious fate would have it, there is an excellent chop-house just across Kingston Pike from the dealership that specializes in lamb chops & steaks… so while my little white buggy is getting her servicing, I hope to enjoy the flame-kissed flesh of a few baby mammals while I wait….

… it’s funny, really….. while Sylvia is having her needs attended to and her necessary fluids checked, I will be 100 yards away doing pretty much the same thing…. except with mint sauce, Newcastle ale, and grease instead of engine oil & windshield cleaner….

… I wonder what it all means when viewed through the lens of this post?....

I reckon it just means if you got the where-with-all to drive a beautiful high tech vehicle than you can buy and drive one if you so desire. I also figure that being the redneck I am I just couldn't use an Audi all that much..not enough room for the dawgs and I would have a tough time hauling a load of cow manure in it...

OK, this is funny: While minivans make men wistful for fast women and salad days, they evoke a primal anger in women. Whenever you see a chick in a Dodge Caravan with three cigarettes in one hand, four cups of coffee in the other hand and five kids in the back as she hollers at their reflections in the rearview mirror and travels 75 mph down Pleasant Valley Road toward ParmaTown Mall, get the hell out of her way - particularly if the front end is dinged.

This is me without the cigarettes, the coffee or the five kids. Just three...thank.you.very.much. And my front end isn't dinged, oh wait. Yes it is. That accident with the garage wall. Damn kids.

Alphabetized....

…. I have been reading with great pleasure about the new adventure that Holder & Richard’s son has just set out on… and I must say that I am very happy to see that he is passing through Marine Corps boot camp with flying colors… in his latest note home he is talking about his time at the rifle range… it certainly twangs the memory, folks…. especially since I’ve laid in the same sand as he… and that little experience, among many, many more things will make him my brother in a few weeks…..

… so, as is my wont these days, I’ve been digging through the dusty corridors of my graying-noggin for boot camp stories…

… last night I found an old James Taylor song that took me straight back to Parris Island and platoon 3072…. which, as luck would have it, is the same platoon in 3rd Battalion that Holder & Richard’s son is in…. albeit separated by 17 years….

…. It truly is funny what you remember when looking back over the span of nearly two decades…..at the time, of course, I was stressed, terrified, exhausted, sore, baked, sweaty, and completely out of my element… a scrawny, 17-year old freckled farmboy who probably weighed 145lbs soaking wet & who got sunburned at the drop of a hat….. but at other times – like now – I can see the humor, fun, frivolity, comradeship, and entertainment of that long ago June, July, and August…

… I also remember that it was one of the first times that I was absolutely and completely alphabetized….

…. I was bunked – on the top bunk – with a Slabberkorn below me and Ryan and Shaver to my left.... and Smith and Stokes to my right…. and a few bunk beds away lay a North Carolina boy named Tart….

…. I remember him as having large, round blue-eyes…. and a pasty face that looked just that wee bit too swollen for the rest of his body…. and full lips that gave his shaved-headed visage an almost cherubic expression….. but what I remember most is the night that I heard him singing…..

…. We were berthed on the top floor of an old red-brick building across the quarterdeck from the 3rd Bn chowhall….. I had managed to dodge the roaming firewatch, slip down from my rack, and was taking a piss out of the second-story window when I first heard him….. (no one dared to approach the heads after light’s out… and we’d been forced to drink three canteens of water just before bed…so hey, you gotta do what you gotta do)….

.... I’d just eased my y-fronts down and was in mid-flow when he began…. And at first, it scared the hell out of me…. it was low and soft, but he was in tune…. And by the time I’d made it back to my rack, I was enthralled by his singing… everyone else was asleep except for he, I, and the firewatch, I suppose, and I listened until his song was through and we both fell asleep….

… I tracked him down a few years ago via telephone and told him about me hearing him singing…. We laughed for a bit, but I think he was slightly embarrassed….. he’s now a state trooper somewhere in the wilds of deepest North Carolina, and I guess he has a tough-guy attitude to keep up with….. but for me, I don’t see it that way at all…… actually, looking back now, it was probably one of the most human things that I remember from my little vacation on Parris Island…... it was a moment of absolute honesty, terrible longing, and raw hope… all wrapped up in a beautiful song…. which, at the time, I am amazed that he could muster it – even in the alone-time darkness of a 2am squad bay....

….. anyway, I am rambling now…. and it is time for me to go and get dinner started…….. so I will leave you with the song that Recruit Tart was singing the night that I heard him…. A night that gave me a memory – a gift - that I’ll take with me everywhere I go…. forever….

That video reminds me of the time me and Puddyhead and some friends holed up at Beech Mountain for a week of skiing in 1978. With an ounce of Ecstasy and a pound of reefer. We took $2000 worth of stereo and set it up in the condo. But we were so fucked up we forgot to bring music. All we had was Taylor's Greatest Hits. Oh well! It rocked.

Put me right back in those 2 story barracks at Fort Polk, LA..1969
Army though, same hot months,... cooling brought to us by swamp coolers, and getting up 20 minutes before the DI came thru so we could get the coldest water from the fountain, then back before he caught us.
Great Memories.

Just think, I was pregnant with my son while you were listening to that song, at that very moment. I was probably wondering who my son would grow up to be, what he would look like, smell like, probably singing away away those sleepless nights. Or maybe I was sleeping quietly, while he dreamed of his future,
The world is a great place sometimes.

Choosing....

…. There is sadness in life, and then there is true tragedy…. Mind-strangling, life-crushing, soul-bruising tragedy…. And no, I’m not talking about having your home swept down the Mississippi in some Huricane-induced mudslide….. I’m talking about music…..

…. Around here?.... well, it is usually pretty thin on the ground….. but tonight I have allowed myself to be swept into a deep, deep, dark & gloomy depression……

… see, whilst scouting YouTube for blogfodder, I chanced to find a few of the wonderful oldies…. James Taylor, Gordon Lightfoot, Jim Croce….. and as I listened to tune after blissful tune, it suddenly occurred to me that the only song of EITHER musician’s that I had bothered to learn to play was “Roller Derby Queen” by Mr. Croce…..

…. Sweet lord, the humanity…..

…. And for those of you who are uninitiated in just how shameful it is to not learn “Time in a Bottle” (and no, that's not Jim, but it is a damn good version) and to choose “Roller Derby Queen” instead, just listen to ole Jim singing it here….

… yes, I know… it is a catchy tune….. but looking back now, I really wish that I’d spent the time learning “Operator” instead…..

…. But hey, you live and learn….. that’s just the way that the cookie bounces…..

Class....

…. Good morning, rubberneckers…. I hope that you are all well…. as for me, a day of simple pleasures lays fruitfully in store…. Mainly, well, Krystal chili-cheese pups….. sure, it’s not exactly Beef Wellington, but they far make up for their lack of class with their ease of purchase and their sheer yumminess…..

… also, I woke up this morning with a phrase from one of my favorite movie scenes of all time running through my bed-haired noggin….. Captain Weaver’s misinformed lines from Lonesome Dove….

… “I’m requisitioning that hoss…” …. Yeah, right…

… check this out…

… I must have watched that movie 100 times… and I’m still undecided over which character I enjoy most… Augustus or Woodrow…

… anyway, I’m off to town for some miniature hotdogs and a backrub…. Y’all have a nice day, now, hear?...

Bou, you are not alone. Please don't kick me out of the Blown Eyes for saying this, but...I've never read "Lonesome Dove," or seen the movie. I know, it's so awful. I deserve to be dragged off and shot.

Oh, that movie...it is what brought us to TX in many ways. And over this long wknd, we'll try to head to the Witliff Gallery and peer at the props and property from the movie. I know you LD fans will love the online collection - had to edit the URL for the picky system - http://www.library.txstate_dot_edu/swwc/ld/ldexhibit.html

Gus's hat and boots, by Gawd.

My motto: Any man who doesn't love the miniseries is not a man to take to your bed.

Spirit....

…. I enjoyed the wonderful pleasure of hosting my Mother and Brother over this afternoon for a sampling of my freshly-baked steak pie….. and I do believe that they enjoyed it…. was it up to Edinburgh pub quality?... no, of course not….. but for around my neck of the woods, well, it’s just about as good as you’re going to find…. True rednecks, after all, are horribly allergic to filo pastry and immediately slip into anaphylactic comas when attempting to cook with the stuff….. so I guess that means I’ve slipped a bit from my upbringing….. but hey, life is growth…. so there is that goin’ for me….

…. In other news, still no word from Anthony Bourdain about him coming down to Helen for the Southeastern Writer’s Conference for a sampling of Velociman’s Chatham Artillery Punch….. and even though it didn’t bounce, I suspect that I might have used an email address that he doesn’t check very often or something…. Then again, he might have read “Straight White Guy” in the To: Field and deleted it immediately thinking it was spam…..

… anyway, I’ve spent most of the afternoon reading about the 1536 Inca uprising in Peru and have become quite fascinated….and in the course of my research, I noticed that the emerald-colored hummingbird that has been frequenting the feeder on my front porch looks almost exactly like the artist’s interpretations of one of Quizo Yupanqui’s fancy headdresses… the colors, that is, not the shape….

….. one thing more, though, before I go for the evening….. Francisco Pizarro may have been a complete and total bastard, but at he was one hardcore sumbitch….. reports of his assassination are sketchy, but aged somewhere between 65 and 70, he still managed to kill two (perhaps three) of his would-be assassins with his sword before being overcome and stabbed by multiple bad guys…. and ultimately popping his clogs a while later from complications of his being gigged.....

…. Not bad, eh?..... look, friends, I don’t care who you are – be you a conqueror of lands or a prize-winning cage fighter – tapping out like that is a sign of you being a consummate badass… I sure hope that I can swing my rapier with such vigor when I’m pushing 65……

"…the emerald-colored hummingbird that has been frequenting the feeder on my front porch looks almost exactly like the artist’s interpretations of one of Quizo Yupanqui’s fancy headdresses… the colors, that is, not the shape…"

I'm impressed you even made that connection. I was thinking the exact same thing.

Steak PIE? WTF? Just for fun, on a related-to Pizarro note, have a listen to Neil Young's excellent "Cortez the Killer", Zuma L.P.-ca. '72?- banned in spain for many years, but, then, you knew that....

Man, you got yourself a superfluous dose of versatility there. Steak pie and filo pastry, artillery punch, 16th century Inca uprising in Peru, and swinging your rapier like a consummate badass... Very impressive juxtapositioning and amalgamation of diverse imagery. Your analyst must be a very rich and happy person...

Kudzu....

…. Driving into town yesterday to get my fortnightly haircut, I had to slow nearly to a crawl to let a large whitetail doe and her twin fawns cross the road in front of me…. I was shocked to see then, initially, as my appointment with the Eva was scheduled for noon…. it’s always slightly odd to see deer at midday around here…..

… they crossed the county road and paralleled the CSX railroad tracks for about three hundred yards before reaching a thick stand of pines that dripped with kudzu… it was like watching those guys go through that portal in Stargate…. The kudzu shimmered in the stifling heat … the leaves were reflecting part of the sunshine and it almost made them glow… and as each of the deer trotted to within ten feet of the clump of trees, they’d leap into the wall of vines and disappear….

.. it was beautiful and mesmerizing at the same time…. like a magic trick or some kind of slight of hand…..

… my goodness…. How my ancestors managed to whip the Indians around here, I’ll never know…. the undergrowth in the woods is nearly impassable in mid-summer… it is a beast that we struggle against as it steadily encroaches on my house from three sides… trying to imagine what it was like 300 years ago just boggles my mind….. I suspect that there was common treachery on a grandiose scale… especially since I doubt that my ancestors were even half the warriors in this terrain that the Cherokees were…..

… and yet, here we are…. driving along on paved roads, crossing intercontinental railroad tracks, and watching a family of whitetail scamper towards their watering hole on a blistering summer day….

… ahhh, hell, I guess I’m just amazed sometimes at how I view change…. It catches me napping sometimes and smacks me back awake….

…. no matter how much we alter everything around us, it is always nature that truly abides…. and that, rubberneckers, is just the way that it is....

I think I've seen only a couple of deer since we moved out east. I know they're around, but even though we live in the woods we seldom see them. In Chicago we saw them often and hoped they didn't make a mad dash into the car. Insane deer were everywhere there. Heh.

Yes nature is all around us, even close to and within the huge cities, and though I would rather enjoy it where you are located, I did enjoy some of it closer to home today. See: http://ballseyesboomers.blogspot.com/2007/08/nature-is-all-around-us-all-you-have-to.html

since
i have google available....I should check. but I once read in an Audobon society book, that kudzu are not "native" to the US. I forget what immigrants brought them here, but oddly enough I read, they brought the kudzu to "choke out" weeds....

Deer in mid-day? Yeah, strange. We got a bigass population of 'em around Middle TN, but rarely see them except early and late. They are smart enough to stay in their air-conditioned thickets during the blistering hot days.

Yep, nature rules. And I'm starting to think that bugs, 'specially ants, are at the top of the heap. There are billions and billions of them, and that's just on our patio.

Kudzu was brought in from Japan to help control erosion. It does that, and a WHOLE LOT MORE!

Deer come out all the danged time 'round here, and we got a big city close by. The only thing I worry 'bout more then deer hittin' the truck, or vice versa, are those waterheaded spandex wearing bicycler's that have the "no fear" signs on their asses.

Glenn....

.. you know, I have a million stories…. I have lots of stories…… lots…. But I don’t feel like telling a single one of them….. not tonight, anyway…..

…. I suppose that I could talk about the time that I watched a killer whale follow our fishing boat out of harbor and out into the Bering Sea….. or I could talk about cutting my finger with a pocket knife when I was five…… or maybe I could talk about what I had for lunch today……

… but no…. not tonight….. tonight I’m going to slip The Right Stuff into the DVD player and wish that I was Scott Glenn ….. hey, we all have heroes……

I know this sounds like fluff, the cat hair that gets in your nose, but there is a scene in "The Right Stuff" where there is a B-29 ready to launch the X-1 and there is the big old prop-driving engine and the moon in the background and that just does it for me. Must have been shot that way on purpose, Wow, a moment in time, and if it was a coincindence I'll eat my hat. Something that makes the movie great, and brings tears to my eyes every time. From propellers to jets, then the moon. Wow.

Absent....

… you know, I’m starting to worry about Brother Rube… hell, he left to go do some drinking on the 7th and still ain’t back…. I mean, sure, I know he likes to get in his cups, but a 9-day bender is a bit much, no?....

... no one should go out on a drunk for more than four days, it just isn't civilized.....

... oh, and since I haven't had a chance to dedicate it in a while, I guess I should point this song towards Brother Velociman.... I've heard he's a Dean Martin fan...... hell, for all I know, he is on a 15-DAY bender.... bender being the operative word, of course....

... you two need to get back in the allegorical saddle.... don't you guys leave me, you bastards.....

Minions....

… East Tennessee is absolutely smoldering this fine evening…. the weatherman forecast a high of 97, but the little digital thermometer on Sylvia’s dash read 106 when she and I skidded towards town for a fried-fish lunch…. So either way, believe whom you will… but rest in this fact, children, it be HOT… hell, I even broke out in a fairly juicy sweat just going out to check the mailbox….

.... Sure, I’m not exactly the fittest tool in the box, I know, but when a man only walks 200 feet and is drenched, well, there’s something bad goin’ on…

… anyway, all this heat and discomfort has caused me to begin pondering upon Beelzebub and all his hellish, soot-encrusted minions…. Indeed, I’ve spent the better part of the afternoon alternating myself between watering the lawn/deck/porch/patio, and then running inside, plopping down next to the nearest air conditioner vent, and furiously scouring wikipedia for information on whether all of this ‘dog days’ hookie is some sort of signal of an upcoming overrunning of us all by Hades’ inhabitants….

… so far, well, I haven’t found anything… but that doesn’t necessarily mean that it aint a sign of impending doom!...

…. So y’all be careful out there, rubberneckers…. I’ll keep you informed in case I find out any pertinent information…

… I’m off to force some ice, gin, and chilled tonic water down my gizzard before I spontaneously combust… hey, it’s good for you… I heard that guy talking about body-core temperatures and stuff on Survivorman the other day….

I was out in it early this morning and got most of what I wanted to get done...done. But I had to wring the water out of my clothes before I threw them in the washer..lost at least five pounds of fluid. I am too gotdam old for this. Besides, today is supposed to be NATIONAL RELAXING DAY and in the dawg days of August that is what we are supposed to be doing..relaxing.

It has finally gotten hot out here and I'm HATING it. What I'm hating more is having to go home to Michigan next week to stand around in a bride's maid dress for an out door wedding. Why couldn't my sister get married in the fall like the rest of us?
Yeah, I'd like some cheese with my wine thank you very much.

I actually survived the delirium of heat stroke once because I was drinking gin on ice. Everybody thought I was drunk, but later we realized the seriousness of the situation. If it hadn't been for the cooling and hydrating effects of the ice, I might have been a goner. Or so I am told.

It was even more miserable here today than yesterday. And up here on the mountaintop...it seems even worse. We've got that wicked dirty haze all over everything. The sheep are really suffering. Shetland sheep just aren't made for this sort of weather. I just want to turn the hose on them.

Screeching...

…. never, ever, ever, ever, under any circumstance underestimate the power, tenacity, and absolute bone-crushing, flesh-tearing violence that a terrified housecat can muster, ladies and gentlemen…..

… y’all just trust me on that one…. Ole Uncle Eric wouldn’t tell you a lie….

…. see, today was the yearly trip to the vet for Fred & Ginger… and the first trip anywhere for Bob….. Fred waltzed into the cat-carrier, laid down, and went to sleep…. Bob was lured into the carrier with a can of tuna fish… (one that he is now dripping in from head to toe after going batshit-crazy once the mesh door swung shut)….. Ginger, on the other hand, is somewhere up near Pigeon Forge – and still heading north – at warp factor 7… and THAT little reaction came from just laying EYES on me toting the carrier thirty yards away…

… good God, I do so hate cats… I mean, you’d think from the way that they react that the Vet beat’em, tried to drown them, and then spent the rest of the check-up poking them with sharpened sticks or something…. Jesus Christ….

… and a more unholy howl than the one that Bob was emitting has never been heard before by human ears, I’d bet….

…. So attention out there to all you heartworms, fleas, ticks, and rabies-infested creatures who read my blog!!.... Ginger is back on the menu!.... that's right, boys and girls!.. have at him!...... there is no way in HELL that we’re catching him now…..

Now ya see. That's what you get for having cats .
My old dad had the right idea about cats. Let them hang around to keep rats and things out of the feed. Kick 'em if they wouldn't get outa' your way. Never, never deviate from your course with either the trucks or tractors because of one sitting in the road, unless they bred too fast and didn't die off in an acceptable manner, whereupon it was expected that you'd try to take out as many as you could even if you did have to take to the ditch every once in a while.
Always remember that if they were just a little larger that they'd be stalking you, and they'll steal the breath out of a baby's nose.

I was catsitting for a friend. I took the cat back to my place for a week. I have an open top Jeep. Driving through east Austin all the cars that blare the rap music were turning down their stereos to find out what that odd sound was. The kitty in the carrier on the front seat of the Jeep Yowling as though I was electricuting it. That was a long ride home I tell you.

Cats get crazy when getting into a carrier or a car because the associate it with going to the vet. The best thing to do is leave the carrier around when you're not going to the vet. Get them used to it, play with them in it, put treats in it. Also, drive them around occasionally when you're not going to the vet, then give them lots of treats after. If they associate the carrier/car with treats, it's much easier.

My cat goes in the car with no problem. Most of the time she actually prefers sleeping in her carrier, even though we let her roam free in the car.

The Lil' Missus and I have the theory that most cats are just as they appear, but some are actually ALIEN intruders disguised as cats. They shun vets for obvious reasons. Subterfuge won't work on them 'cause they speak all languages. Ya need a rifle with a scope...

..Well, the vet DOES put something up their bum that looks like a fiddle to get a sample to test for worms or something, and I've held a cat while it's done, and they shiver (the cat and I both) in the process...having said so, (too) much, I will say I was kidding about the rifle...I am a man, and I like cats, even the grey alien-in-disguise here in my house, Batboy.

Views....

…. as random chance would have it, I woke this morning and picked up my dog-eared copy of Andrew Boyd’s Daily Afflictions for a quick mental jog with my coffee….. let me tell you, friends, old Brother Void is a wise & learned fellow….. I highly recommend the book….. anyway, I later found myself wandering over to Elisson’s crib and found a lovely poem by A. E. Housman…

… however, I was quite shocked by the disparity of viewpoints shared by the two authors… Housman – in Elisson’s interpretation – seems to believe that poetry has greater virtues in the longer-run of things than does getting three-sheets-to-the-wind in your cups….

…. As for me, I will completely withhold judgment on the matter as 1.) I am too uneducated to be relied upon for sound debunking of anything even remotely literary, and 2.) I have a huge propensity to dive headfirst INTO poetry once I’m getting’ my slash on…. especially bad poetry…. personally, I blame the Marine Corps and my Great Uncle Rob....

… but be that as it may, I figured that you rubberneckers might enjoy a tidbit of Brother Void’s wisdom today regarding drinking, life, love, children, and drinking……especially since the blogmeet in Helen is just around the corner…. behold…..

”Nothing has a stronger influence…. on…. children, than the unlived life of the parent.” – Carl Jung

Some of us have children too early in life. Invariably, we lay our thwarted dreams and toxic disappointments upon their heads, hoping they will live the life we neglected to live. The rest of us figure, why not have our life first and then have the kids? We soon find, however, that this is not so easy. As the world grows more complex and the possibilities for experiencing things multiply, it becomes ever more difficult to work in enough living before the close of our baby-making years. Eventually, you realize that the only way to beat the clock is to live your life as furiously as possible – which means starting earlier, moving faster, and holding out longer. You’ve got to crank through travel fantasies, fringe lifestyles, multiple careers, extreme sports, and designer drugs and gorge yourself on liquor and sex as fast and as hard as you can. How else can you expect to get over yourself enough to really be there for your kids when it counts? So the next time you find yourself power partying, remember to ratchet it up another notch because only when you live your unlived life will your children be free to live theirs.

I binge for my kids

.... hey, it certainly makes sense to me.... but then, I don't have children......

I'm not much of a poet nor into showers. I'd rather be drinking or smoking a good cigar or dipping or rolling in the sheets. I am going to try his poached salmon recipe. I think I'd like it a little more rare.

Bob....

Oh little toad-frog out on my grass
If you’d been born with wings you’d not bump your ass
Your hopping and jumping gave me great glee
But beware of Black Bob there scratching his fleas!
And when young Bob’s keen eyes you caught
Little did you know the farm you’d just bought
If wing’ed and intelligent, then surely you’d have soared
Instead of globbing through his cat-guts and making them sore meowie

.... do not weep for him, Erica... sure, he may have gotten eaten - which snuffed him in the Great Scheme of Things - ... but I do know for a fact that he gave Bob indigestion....

... and sometimes?.... when faced with an overwhelming circumstance such as he faced, well, all that you can hope for is to make whatever munched you feel a bit quesy afterwards.... small payback, sure, but at least it is something...

… although, really?... I kinda doubt that little toad-frog was so pragmatic at the time…

Wait. Let me get this straight. You were just sitting there filming Bob when suddenly the little toad frog guy appeared and you captured the whole "circle of life, darwin's survival of the fittest, food chain" on tape? Wow. How fortuitous... for us. Heh.

I will say, if Bob were in Florida, he'd be dead. We get Bofu toads. Poisonous nasty toads... animals eat those and BOOM! the toad may be dead, but so it the critter that ate it. I guess nature's equivalent of a duel... both guys dying at the end.

Rufus the cat prefers lizards and chipmunks but I'm sure if I tell him that Bob is munching on toadfrogs that he'll have to give 'em a chance. After all, he does have a reputation to uphold and the thought that a Tennessee Feline is outdoing a 'Bama Tomcat would be too much for him to bear......

Astronecks....

…. early-afternoon and the kitchen is clean, the Sun is shining, my spaghetti sauce is slowly percolating on the stove, and a University of Tennessee grad is piloting the Space Shuttle…. SpongeBob and Mr. Crab just finished trying to poison a food inspector with a Krabby Patty that they’d swished around in a commode…. I tell you, gentle rubberneckers, it’s one helluva way to spend a Friday morning….

… anywhoo, I write this post only to quickly point out the creative genius of the writers of SpongeBob… just now, sitting here while the Wife giggled incessantly in the living room, I heard a great little tidbit that I just feel overwhelmingly compelled to share… check this out....

SpongeBob: Oh no, Mr. Crab!... We killed him!
Mr. Crab: What do you mean WE, SpongeBob?! It was YOU who served him that crabby patty!
SpongeBob: Oh no! I didn’t know it would kill him, Mr. Crab!
Mr. Crab: That’s right, SpongeBob! It’s off to the stony lonesome for you!

… good God, how marvelous… “stony lonesome”….. I just love that term…. using language like that is almost as delicious to me as my spaghetti sauce, I swear….

…. And the more and more that I think about that Tennessee astronaut, I can’t help but wonder where they let him hang his gunrack in the space shuttle…

…. I can almost picture it now….. “Uh, Houston?.... Yeah, we’ve got’er docked with the International Space Station juuuuuust fine…. I’m just gonna put her up on some cinder blocks and then I’ll be ready to initiate that ole shutdown procedure… “…. ahhh, I'm just kidding... it's good to see a Volunteer reaching such heights..... figuratively AND literally....

Do I hear the strains of "Good ole' Rockytop, Rockytop, Tennessee"? Yeehaw. With the financial bastions falling, maybe it should be Tom Waits singing "Hey little bird, fly away home, your house is on fire your children are alone". Jockey full of bourbon...

Spongebob is awesome! I've only seen about 5-10 eps (I'm sure they're available on YouTube), because I don't have cable, but that doodie-shaped character named Patrick is very cool. I am so liking the whole "It's a big old goofy world" theme you have going on lately. Keep it up!

Tell me that guy doesn't have Blown Eye written all over him. He actually reminds me a little of Big Stoopid Tommy. And musically, he possess a bit of a John Entwistle-like quality (wow...this is actually a sweet companion piece to "Boris the Spider.").

Lasting....

…. The work to continue the widening of US Highway 411 between Madisonville and Englewood is moving at great pace…. Each time that I drive it, it seems that the road has been diverted once again – around a cemetery, over another small stream, or through another flattened hilltop….

… Progress, I suppose, but still it is a bit sad….at least to me, it is…..

…. When I was very young, I lived in a tiny house alongside that road…. a wooden-framed clapboard built on the side of a hill that sloped away from the road and bordered in the back by a small wet-weather run…..

I’ve written about it a few times here on these pages… whether remembering holding icicles when I was a child that were nearly as long as I was tall… or of imagining the long-buried piles of Playboy magazines that I stowed away in the half-basement when I was five…. I still even remember the telephone number for the house, burned into my noggin when I was sent off to kindergarten in Madisonville….. 442-4488… after all these years, I still remember…. How odd…. I guess a 5 year old memory is an impressionable place……

… I passed by that house this morning on my way up to Maryville to raid one of their liquor stores……

…. The tiny lawn is overgrown and the mailbox is hanging from its pole…. A mood of genuine abandon could never be more fully realized than that of the poor visage which that small house exuded…. the houses on either side retain clipped lawns and hanging baskets on their front porches….. but that little blue house (it was white when I lived there) is practically falling down from disuse, misuse, forgetfulness, and neglect…

… I thought considerably about buying it as I kept up my drive north today…. but really, that would be pure foolishness…… who’d want to ever live that close to a raging 4-lane highway?..... not me, that’s for sure…. But still, it seems such a tragedy to see a part of my past so disregarded…..

… it wasn’t even that great of a house to begin with, I guess….. bare and coarsely built… no central heating or cooling…. And my Dad did most of the plumbing on the spare weekends when he was home…..

… I remember one winter night when I was five years old…. He’d been working in Bristol, Virginia all week and arrived home by the kind courtesy of a ‘65 Impala with bald tires & 100lbs of log chain in the trunk about 10pm….. it was nearing Christmastime, so I’d been allowed to stay up and await his return…..

… at 8pm that day, our pipes had frozen and we were without water or the money to call on a plumber, and so we waited for my Father to appear… tired, dirty, and happy to see us, he burst in the front door… only to hear of the bad news….

… he did not hesitate in his task, and immediately went to work (after insisting that I be bundled in heavy clothes so that I could brave the weather and ‘hold the flashlight’)….

…. He was cutting a 1” piece of PVC when his knife slipped and buried itself into the hand that was holding the frozen pipe….. I was shocked, but kept holding the flashlight as the cold wind blew…. I still remember that like it was yesterday…. how I followed him to the kitchen sink and turned on the hot water for him as he withdrew the knife that had impaled three of his fingers…… cold, white fingers and bright red blood….. no cussing or oaths, just the running of the water and the sound of my Mother fumbling for the hydrogen peroxide in the bathroom behind us….

… we ended up going to bed after that…. and on Saturday morning we patched the line together just as the night’s storm released our water as the Sun came up….

…. I thought of all those memories today as I saw that flea-bitten old house…

…. In all honesty, I doubt that it’ll stand much longer…. Be it because it is so old, or simply because it really was never that well-built to begin with… or because it is now so close to the encroachment of progress….. but either way, I would suspect that its days are numbered….

Your dad, rest his soul, must have had the HUGEST threshold for pain, because incurring an injury like that would have sent my ass scrambling to the nearest hospy.

I think some stuff lasts forever. The stuff that really counts, and even though houses where we grew up and things like that seem really important to us, maybe there's even bigger stuff, that's more important.

I hope so, at least. Because otherwise, I will be really pissed about all the time I wasted pondering the meaning of life, only to learn on the other side that it was just a bunch of random hot air, with no purpose.

Excellent post. Lots of things going on in there. It is hard for us to totally separate ourselves from places and things in our past. But somehow, we must. Clearing out parents accumulations of a lifetime brings that home quickly. You hate to pitch things out, but would have to put an addition on the house to keep it all. No, don't even think of buying the old house...

Jeez what a day, what a man,reminds me why I don't have kids. Was helping my father repair the kitchen sink, had grey-black goo all over our hands, and he reached up and turned on the tap to wash. I watched in silence as the water poured out from the disconnected p-trap. If I said anything he would have jap-slapped me through the wall. A good father you had there.

"...I am very glad to see other people just as poor as my own family..."

Ah, but there is, blessedly, a difference between say YOU & ME, and those hopping over muddy streams of choleric what-can-no-longer-be-considered-water with hordes of flies buzzing around their bulging rheumy eyes in Christian Children's fund commercials. I, for one, wouldn't mind a fatter billfold, but I sure as heck wouldn't want flat-out poverty either.

I know what you mean about old houses. My grandparents' place was built by my great-grandfather in the 20's but since Grandpa died, my uncle & G'ma are considering selling the farm. I would love for the next generation to have access to it, but if that doesn't happen, we'll get by.

G'pa was a toughie, too. He was baling hay one time, cut off a finger (it was hanging by a piece of skin) & finished up that row before hollering to Dad that he needed to go to the doc. They did manage to save the finger.

Grumpy....

…. A few days ago while wandering around in a soft, velvety haze courtesy of Indian cuisine and a few Newcastle Browns, I happened to find that I had mysteriously arrived at a bookstore….

… I ventured inside and milled around for nearly half of an hour… nothing really caught my fancy, honestly…. I even hit the poetry section in a fit of desperation and was still let down…. my goodness, people, what is this wonderful world of ours coming to?... I searched the (albeit meager) selection of poetry and there was not a single tome by Robert W. Service, Ogden Nash, or Sassoon!... and taking up their rightful place on the shelves of a fine store servicing a college town?.... Henry friggin’ Rollins and Walt fuggin’ Whitman….

…. I swear, folks… the further I venture from my compound here, the more depressed I get….

… all was not lost that evening though, and I finally found a copy of Fodor’s “Guide to Belgium”…. And as I think it quite rude to venture into a selling-establishment, hang around looking interesting for nearly an hour, and leave hundreds of greasy thumbprints on a wide selection of their merchandise without actually intending on buying something, I escorted the little gem up to the cash register and made my purchase….

… since I’ll be in Belgium shortly on holiday, I figured it was an excellent choice of reading material….

…. And I am very, very happy to report that I now know where I’ll be dining on the evening of the 15th of September….. Taverne Falstaff in Brussels…. Here’s what the handy little guidebook has to say about it…

Students, pensioners, and everyone in-between flock to this century-old huge tavern with an Art Nouveua terrace and legendarily grumpy waiters.

… legendarily grumpy waiters….. good god, people, I can hardly wait….. and here I've been hearing people say that Belgium was boring!....

Oh, I spent a couple of days in Belgium on my European Tour of the Virgin Mary. We had the best time in a the bar section of a fancy Art Deco restaurant. I don't think that's the same one though. I don't recall a terrace although it was on a hill.

They had a fabulous appetizer menu and an astounding selection of beers. And they served the beers in logo glasses for the company. We stayed so long and made such a drunken spectable of ourselves the owner finally joined us for the last two or three rounds.

Bose......

…. Well, so much for culture….. by the time that we hit I-75 we had changed our minds and set plans for Shakespeare for this coming Wednesday instead…. So y’all will get a riveting blow-by-blow of the play next Thursday sometime….

…. Anyhoo, since I have company arriving shortly and am feeling inimitably lazy, there’ll be no content of worth here this evening…. instead, I shall give you another cheesy YouTube clip of me flawlessly piloting Sylvia towards a Subway tuna sandwich yesterday….. I stopped filming well before I hit dolphin-free paydirt, of course, but y’all get the general idea….

… ahhhh, Tom Waits…. “don’t you know there ain’t no Devil – that’s just God when he’s drunk..” …… the man is a genius, folks….

… and with that, gentle readers, I am off to sip an exquisitely-aged Bowmore and ponder great and wonderful things until bedtime……

Alright. This is at least the 2nd time you've done this and both times now, as I watch, it reminds me of an opening to some Indy movie. I half expect to hear you start singing to Waits.

When you do this 'ride along with Eric' thing, do you hold that video camera up to your eye and drive through the lense or are you just holding it out there while you drive. Good Lord... I'm not sure I want to know. Every time I saw a car approaching I wanted to scream, Watch out!! Gah.

Spectating....

…. as High Cultural pickings are a bit slim around the casa these days, The Missus has asked that I carry her up to Knoxvegas this evening to catch an open-air performance of old Willie Shakespeare’s “The Tempest”… so if any of your hammerheads in the Knoxville area wish to buy me an adult beverage, I’ll be the guy standing in Market Street Square around 7pm tonight holding a bottle of Miller Genuine Draft and yelling at Prospero to hurry up and get to strangling Caliban…..

… what?.... hey, never let it be said that we Tennesseans ain’t got class, rubberneckers….. we got it in spades…. word....

Appreciation....

… yesterday evening another thunderstorm rolled through and passed off to the north…. From the living room window, I could see the billowing black clouds miles and miles away… but even at such a distance, the thunder still shook the panes as it missed us….. It was followed by another only twenty minutes later that didn’t miss…. And we were on the receiving end of lightning, wind, and sideways-rain….

…. just before sundown for the past few days, they’ve rumbled in, those storms….

… last night I went out onto the front porch just as the rain began to fall… and as the wind pushed it under the awning to where I stood, I caught myself taking a step back towards the door so that I wouldn’t get wet….

… sitting here now, I guess I should be a bit ashamed of myself… sure, there was a certain comfort level that I was maintaining by retreating…. and it wouldn’t have been a great idea to have let myself get soaked and then return inside…. But there was a time when I would have slipped off my shirt & socks and trotted right out into the grass, sat down, and let the wind and rain wash me clean while the thunder and lightning boomed…..

... but last night I didn’t….

… I wonder what happened to that guy… I suspect that he’s still around somewhere deep inside…. Perhaps he was distracted by a tumbler of scotch or a line from a book he was reading…. Then again, maybe he was asleep….. I don’t think that he’s dead…. But either way, I doubt that he’s grown up enough to not want to wallow around in a big patch of rainy grass….

… but last night, yeah, I stepped back…. that fact does remain….

…. I wonder how many people have actually been truly rained on… out away from civilization or shelter… bare to the elements… perhaps busy with an emergency task that simply must be finished regardless of the weather…. It is an odd thought to me…. most anyone who has spent time in the military has been seriously rained on…. and hunters, as well….. and probably fishermen too….. but most everyone else?.... if it is raining, you stay in, find shelter, or go out with a hat, raincoat, or umbrella…..

…. But something definitely seems amiss here, and I intend to fix it…..

… if the storms come again in a few hours, I’m going out to meet them…..

When I'm out fishing offshore and it starts to rain like hell along with major lightning I'm scared shitless about gettin' zapped, but when I'm at home slammin' shots of tequila and doing cannon-balls into the pool (my way of relaxing) and the wicked ass storms come rollin' in, it doesn't even phase me. There's nothing like doin' laps in the cement pond in the pouring rain with lightning crackling all around. Drives the ol'lady crazy.

I think that one has not truly lived life to the fullest unless they have been seriously rained upon, clothes completely soaked to the bone, hair drenched. Love, Rain O'er Me.

Umbrellas, aside from my always losing them, which is a minor waste of money kind of annoyance, totally suck; I try to avoid them.

But, the thing is, if you're on your way to work (we're not talking House Husbandry, here), and you get rained on, it's the worst. Wet frizzy hair, cold damp jeans, gooshy shoes all day long, in a cold office environment...it's just no fun.

Just to get in the mood, look up the Eric Clapton vid for "Pretending" on YouTube. It's good stuff, even though his hair looks freaky.

I've been seriously rained on as a farmer, fisherman, lumberjack, paperboy, student, research assistant, and regular old person. As long as it's in the quest of something important or being truly and monumentally drenched for whatever purpose it brings me to mind of how minor and basic such inconveniences are. If you're exercising and it's above, say, 60 degrees it's just different, not bad. Until, of course, you get into "polite" company, and getting furniture, floors, etc wet becomes somehow nekulturny again.

I only really get wet "on purpose" now at work, and it's best with company and in a driving rain complete with thunder and lightning. Completes the bonding experience until someone wusses out and starts seriously complaining. Some people's children...

Weather Report: It's been doing that same bullshit rumbling and grumbling every afternoon around Music City, but so far, no rain. It's so dry even the weeds are dying. Getting serious. Another week of this and we lose everything.

Soul Report: Been there, done that. A few years ago I lived out in the woods, far out of eye or ear shot of anybody. One day after a long hot dry spell it poured rain. I was caught outside in shorts and tee shirt, which got soaked immediately, so I said what the hell and just stripped and stood there buck naked and let it rain on me. Felt good. The sight scared away the snakes for the rest of the season too...

When I was about ten we lived out in the desert near Terlingua, Texas, and some city folk I was riding with had their car washed away in a 'gullywasher'-texas lingo for a flash-flood.(Not my fault, I warned them) We walked in the rain for about fifteen miles with me bravely leading the way to the nearest (only) town within forty miles. Since then I find rain comforting somehow, so long as it isn't too cold to enjoy....and yes, like you said, that boy is still alive, but then rain in the desert is different.

Ah the rain. I watch the lightning from the porch but a plain old rain storm will still get me out in it occassionally. My favorite soakings were the time I was 12 years old and I was in NYC with my mom and my friend. It was the first time I was allowed to bring someone and wander the city alone. Started pouring rain and we just ran down 6th Ave in the garment district, splashing in the puddles. The New Yawkers didn't know quite what to make of us but a lot of people laughed and talked to us.

The second time, I was -- well much older -- and hanging around with the sky divers at the drop zone, drinking adult beverages. It started pouring around 10:00 pm. Full moon rising over the mountain. I made everybody take their clothes off and do a rain dance. Somewhere there's still pictures in somebody's album.

I love to stand out in the rain. Depending on the situation, if I hear thunder and see lightning dancing about, then I usually stay in. However, if it's one of those downpour Summer showers, I am outside standing in it, and loving every single second of it. I always did, I always will.

There's something to be said about standing in a torrential Summer downpour shower. The refreshing feeling as it melts off the day's grime just cannot be compared to a regular bath or shower.

I seriously love to go outside just as the outflow from an approaching storm announces itself by dancing with the trees. The Air is more like water then, heavy with moisture, it eddies and flows and carresses.

Rain. I have cussed it and discussed it and worked in it and fought in it and tried farmin' without it. I have been rained on in the tropics where one doesn't wear a slicker because the sweat from the heat will make one's clothes as wet as the rain..and the rain wet smells better.

I have been in the top of a oil drilling rig when the wind was blowing forty miles per hour and the rain was coming in sideways..at about 35F and I have been caught off shore in the Gulf of Mexico in a tropical storm where I had to dead reckon with a compass to get in and trust no ship was in my way..raining to hard to see...

So I reckon what I am saying is that when it rains on sweetthing's half acre I applaud... but I damn sure don't go out to play in it. But I do sit on the porch and watch the treerats play in it.

Anti-mellow....

…. I eased out the backdoor this morning and onto the deck…. little birds were chirping in the trees that bordered my small property… the day was waking up and the sunlight had not yet baked away the night’s dew…. My coffee was steaming, my cigarette was lit, and the World was at Peace….

… one step forward onto the cool, damp boards, and my toes quivered in delight at the texture of the deckboards…

… I turned my head towards the east and sighed at the first sparklings of sunlight as they danced down through the branches of the highest poplar trees…. I sipped my mug of coffee and closed my eyes as the dark, warm liquid slid thrillingly down my neck…. The first sip of coffee in the morning is such a magical moment, after all….

… and it was in that rapturous moment of Emersonian Bliss that Ginger, my cat, leapt from the high tangle of the honeysuckle which is climbing the southern-side railings of my deck and bounded past me towards the camellia…

… I spilled my coffee, nearly jumped out of my skin just like you see those cartoon characters do sometimes, burned my lip, dropped my cigarette on top of my foot, and shrieked like a little girl all in about 1/5th of a second….

… 2/5th of a second later, and I was standing there glowing bright red with steam jetting from both ears in a coffee-soaked shirt and a cigarette-burnt foot….

…. I’ve often heard it said – and I have always taken it with a grain of salt – but the longer that I live with them, the more certain I am that cats truly are evil…. and they know exactly what they’re doing…..

I don't care much for cats like I once did. My wife has a "bastard" cat who I swear, will go out of his way to be destructive. Like, clawing at the top of the basement stairs, pulling the carpet up on the little "overhang" on the other side of the basement door, or banging against the gate I now have in place to prevent further clawings of the carpet. Or, yelping randomly throughout the day because he wants to claw the carpet, or throwing up all over the place in the basement. That cat's fixed, and he's still a bastard. If it were up to me, I'd put a bullet through that sonuvabitch, but don't tell my wife that.

Look at it as getting your aerobic exercise out of the way early. And whatever you do don't read Stephen Kings' Pet Cemetery. That is the most evil cat ever. But don't worry there are no such things as zombie cats...are there?

Angie's cat Angus Crow was sharpening his claws on one of those carpet-pole things and a claw got stuck, he panicked, being the sensitive emo-cat that he is, and went ape-shit. She approached with caution to try and help, at which point he became more spazzed and got loose, hissed, leaped on her leg and clawed and bit insanely, then ran full blast in a eight-nipple huff into the glass door of the kitchen. If I had been there I may have killed him, but she thought it was funny...Now I call him Crowsarrian...

Good Lord. Well. I can say I surely do not identify. But watching him move, I would suspect that moving around like that wouldn't help much unless 'the boys' hung really really low. That cop laughing is what set me to laughing. Holy crap.

... interesting idea, Bou.... but I reckon that the gusto which one wiggles their thighs together is directly proportionate to both how "low" or "high" they might be, and just how "itchy" they truly are....

Well I don't know if they ever itched quit ethat badly for me, if only cause I have always been able to scratch em when they do itch. man that looked unbearable. What got me to feel amused was not the guys predicament, but the cops statement that due to his combative nature... It just seemed more like someone in need of a free hand with some fingernails than a combative nature to me.